


Beauty Is in the Eye of the Beholder

by Evenina



Category: League of Legends
Genre: At least Jhin thinks so, But it's actually Halloween, Gen, Murder is Art, Origin Story, Spirit Blossoms Festival, The first time Zed and Shen witness Jhin's "masterpieces"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 03:41:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28824633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evenina/pseuds/Evenina
Summary: What is art? Is it life and beauty? Or is it death and decay?
Kudos: 9





	Beauty Is in the Eye of the Beholder

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everyone! This is my first fanfic here, and boy am I excited. I wrote this for IKeepItTaco's Halloween Art Contest, though it's been edited since then. English is not my first language, so if you catch any mistakes, please let me know so I can fix them. Constructive criticism is welcome. Happy reading!

_What is art? Is it creation? Is it beauty? Is it the sun that rises? Is it the gentle breeze that sways the flowers in the field?_ _Is it life?_

It was the noon of the Spirit Blossoms festival. The spirit trees stood tall and beautiful, still donning their leaves despite the late autumn chill that signaled winter’s imminent arrival. They had bloomed only the previous week and tonight they would be at their most beautiful, before going back to sleep for another year. Ionians had been preparing since the first bud blossomed, rounding up their harvest and getting ready for the coldest season of the year. Τhe wine was ripening in the cellars, the cattle had been gathered in their wintering areas and the food had been stored. Today, though, they would be able to rest. Today was a day of reflection and celebration. The day of the Spirit Blossoms festival was the day the veil between the world of the living and the spirit realm was at its thinnest. The tea made from the spirit blossoms had given Ionians the opportunity to speak with their departed loved ones this morning, and the night would be dedicated to celebrating them. Travelling theatres, merchants and storytellers had arrived in the small town, filling its square with voices, songs and colours.

Two young men had stopped in front of a stall with knives and daggers. The oldest one picked up a steel knife and examined it, though his mind appeared to be elsewhere. Usan -as was his name- had once partaken in such a celebration, but it was so long ago that he could hardly remember it. However, the memory of being able to hear his mother’s voice for the first time would never fade. She had died in childbirth, leaving him orphaned with a grief-stricken father that had no idea how to care for a newborn. Still, Usan’s father loved him and did his best to raise him, up until he left to join his mother six short years after her death. He sighed. The townspeople had offered tea to his companion, Shen, and him and, even though Usan would have loved to speak to his parents again, his gut told him that he couldn’t afford to let his guard down. Not today.

Master Kusho, Shen’s father and his teacher, was currently examining another lead on the demon they were hunting. It was said that the infamous Golden Demon had been sighted in a near-by city, yet it wouldn’t be the first time they heard of a sighting, only to find themselves in a dead end. Seeing as it was a time of celebration, Kusho had allowed the two boys in his care to visit the small town on their own.

“I believe it’s the usual villainy that’s ailing this city and not a demon on the loose. Still, I ought to see this for myself,” he had told them. “Now, you two behave yourselves, but remember to also have a little bit of fun.” He smiled at his two students and then they parted ways.

Despite his master’s words, Usan had felt a sense of unease as soon as they entered the town. He felt as if someone, or something, was watching his companion and him, paying attention to their every move.

“Has the knife offended you in some way, Usan? You are frowning at it an awful lot,” said Shen with amusement, looking up from a beautifully ornamented blue dagger.

“No, I was simply born with a scowl on my face,” Usan deadpanned, putting the knife back on the stall.

Shen laughed and poked him with the hilt of the dagger.

“No, seriously, what is going on with you? You’ve been tense since we arrived.”

Usan’s eyes scanned the stalls and the people mingling among them, looking for any signs that something was amiss.

“I just have a bad feeling, can’t quite put my finger on why.”

Shen’s eyes followed his.

“I think I know what’s wrong.” His friend dropped his voice, coming closer to him. “That fruit stall over there is looking menacing. Maybe we ought to go and investigate it thoroughly.”

“Brat,” Usan chuckled, pushing the boy away from him. Shen laughed and quickly returned to his side.

“Usan, come on, we’ve been hunting this demon for months without any result, we deserve some rest! We are here to have fun, to relax.” Shen placed his hand on Usan’s shoulder and shook him. “You need to unwind a little, you can’t be this tense all the time. You’ll go insane!” Then with a mischievous smile he said: “I know old age comes with more worries, but surely you still remember what fun is!”

“Why you little-“ laughed Usan and moved to swat Shen’s head. The younger boy ducked, laughing. “Fine, fine, I’ll relax.” He breathed out and rolled his shoulders. “See? I’m relaxed. Now let’s go investigate that menacing fruit stall, I’m sure our research will yield very tasty results.” He then turned and left the knives behind him.

Shen jumped at the opportunity to put food in his stomach and quickly followed him. They each got an apple and a stew the kind elder lady who owned the stall gave them, then went to the town’s square and sat at the edge of it to eat, watching while a travelling theatre erected their stage underneath the great plane tree for this evening’s performance. Usan let his eyes travel around, then froze as he encountered a pair of eyes staring back. He blinked and looked elsewhere, then returned to rest his gaze upon the man he thought he saw looking at them. He was part of the theatre band, simply going about his business. Usan shook his head.

 _Shen’s right_ , he thought. _I need to calm down_.

* * *

Guiying sat on the back of his traveling car, enjoying the afternoon sun and watching the people walking by. As a storyteller, guessing at the stories hidden behind each person’s face always amused him. Years of practice had made him very good at it and he could now find a lot about a person simply by looking in their eyes.

_This woman has lost a child this summer. That man loves to sleep but can never get enough of it. This boy wants a toy so much, he will steal it if his parents don’t buy it for him. And…_

A familiar man passed in front of him and climbed on the stage they had erected, drawing his attention.

 _And that man has the most worrying pair of eyes I have ever seen,_ he thought as he watched their stagehand move a stool from one side of the stage to the other.

He was a clever young man that had recently joined their travelling theatre. When he had first arrived, he had made suggestions about their plays that Guiying thought were quite ingenius. The rest of the crew, though, ignored them, dismissing him as a mere stagehand and nothing more. From then on, the man had shut himself off. No matter how much Guiying had tried to approach him, the man simply would not let him. At first, Guiying was intrigued by him. No one knew where he had come from or what his true name was. He had introduced himself as Shujia, no family name, no nothing. He had a weird physique, with a misshapen shoulder that somehow didn’t inhibit his ability to move or do his work. But after a while, the old storyteller started to feel uneasy at his presence. Shujia’s face set him on edge. No matter how hard he looked, he could never remember what his features looked like. He could recognize him when he saw him, but if anyone asked him to describe him, he was very sure he wouldn’t be able to do it. The old storyteller also found that he couldn’t stand Shujia’s gaze, feeling a chill running down his spine every time their eyes met. When Guiying brought up his unease to the other members of their little band, they waved his concerns away, since the young man did all his work perfectly, without ever complaining or making a fuss.

“He is a little weird,” they had agreed, “but he’s not the first freak, nor the last we will meet.”

He sighed. Perhaps he was getting weird in his old age, paying too much attention to things that weren’t all that important. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, trying to clear his thoughts. He had a show to give and a story to tell after all. He could dwell on the nature of their stagehand at a later time, when his duties were done for the evening.

“Grandpa, what are you doing here all alone? Come get ready with us.” A young woman, Lin, had come up to him while he was lost in thought. The girl was not his granddaughter by blood, but he had raised her as if she was after her parents died. He was very fond of her and she of him, and she was the only one who didn’t immediately wave off his unease with Shujia, even though she didn’t fully understand it. Lin was the only person the stagehand ever talked to, smiling at her whenever she brought him food and praising her on her performances. Not without reason of course. The girl was born a performer. While plain in looks, her presence always shined on stage and her voice could charm even the coldest of hearts. But Guiying felt afraid every time he saw Shujia smile at her, for reasons he couldn’t really understand.

He looked up, trying to put his worries aside, and smiled at his granddaughter. She loved flowers and always wore them on her hair. Today, she had adopted a more festive look and had weaved buds from the spirit trees in them. They gave her an unearthly glow and he was sure she would break several hearts tonight.

“I was just lost in my musings, dear. I’ll come right away. Go join the others.”

“All right!” She bend down and kissed his cheek, then turned away to join the rest of their crew. As Lin left his sight, Shujia drew his attention. He was staring at his granddaughter’s retreating back with a peculiar look on his face. Guiying tensed and tried to avert his eyes before he was noticed but wasn’t fast enough. Shujia’s intense gaze turned to him and stayed there for a long time. Guiying couldn’t look away, his heart speeding up, feeling afraid like never before. Then, the young man smiled, as if privately amused by something and offered him a small bow, before turning on his heel and leaving towards the merchants’ stalls.

Guiying stayed frozen long after the stagehand had left, then slowly leaned on his cane and got up. There was something very wrong with Shujia. He would have talk to the others again tomorrow and this time, he would convince them of his fears. But for now, he needed to get ready.

* * *

The sun was setting and the glow of the spirit trees was becoming even stronger. The townspeople were slowly finding their way underneath the plane tree. Werelights were hanging from its branches and along with the spirit trees that surrounded the square bathed the scene in a soft blue and purple light. Usan grabbed Shen’s elbow as to not lose him in the crowd and searched for a spot that would allow them unobscured view of the play that was about to begin soon. They found just in time, as the actors took their places on top of the stage and begun their performance. The first play was a beautiful reenactment of the myth of the Kindred. The girl and her beast, who play their games for all eternity, never remembering where they came from but still fulfilling their duty, capturing the souls of the dead and leading them to the spirit realm. Beside him, Usan could see Shen gazing at the stage with wonder. He smiled to himself. He was glad the actors chose this story, as it was his friend’s favourite. He felt Shen was too young at sixteen years old for this demon hunt, even if he was the best pupil of the Kinkou. He didn’t feel old enough himself and he was three years older. So, he was grateful for the reprieve, even if it was for one night.

The second play was a local fairytale about a small fairy and her band of misfits, who travelled the land helping every soul that felt out of place find her way in the world. This one was more of a children’s tale and made the younger kids in the audience squeal with happiness.

The actors finished their performance, bowed to thunderous applause and left the stage, all besides a young woman with flowers on her hair. She sat down on a stool on the far left, picked up the guitar that lay next to it and started singing a wordless song. From the depths of the stage emerged an old man with long white hair. He walked slowly, assisted by a cane, to the center, where he stood still and let his gaze sweep over the crowd. Then, he opened his mouth and, with the accompaniment of music, started his tale.

_“For centuries we have known that we are not alone. Beside our world exists another, where souls travel after they are released from their body, accompanied by spirits older than time. Some of them are benign. Soft like a spring breeze, they aspire to help mortals, both before and after their passing. But there are others, vengeful and full of malice, who only seek to harm whoever may cross their path. Tonight, I will recount to you the tale of the Golden Demon, a wicked spirit who loved beauty above all else, but was twisted and rotten down to its very core. For this demon was once a human, a brilliant man, an artist, that adored to capture the world around him through his art. However, though his pieces were the epitome of beauty, he never made enough to live of his trade. Then, one day, a fit of hunger made him eat the art he had created. As he lay on the floor of his little house, writhing in pain, feeling his life fading bit by bit, he vowed that he would take revenge on the world, for never understanding the beauty he gifted it with. Left to stew for centuries in his hate, he planned and he plotted. Even though the years passed, he never forgot his occupation as an artist. He would make sure to exact his revenge in a memorable and beautiful way. He would make sure to create pieces whose worth couldn’t be denied even by the lowliest of human beings. He would make sure that they would remember his work, that they would remember his name._

_He begun with children. They were easier to lure, easier to manipulate. He would take them, twist their faces and their bodies with the horrific precision of an experienced sculptor and then bring them back to their parents, so that his works of art could be admired as long as the child was alive. It often wasn’t for long, because such disfigurement left the children weak, and even if it didn’t, they were often shunned and abandoned. As such, the demon turned his attention to a different kind of art. He first searched for a human that inspired him, who had the potential to be his muse. He finally found it in the face of an old seamstress. Though the woman herself was forgettable, the way her fingers created lovely clothes out of simple scraps of fabric fascinated him. He watched her day and night, thinking of all the ways he could make her memorable. Then, after carefully planning his work, as soon as the opportunity presented itself, he created. The old lady was found the next day with her eyes, mouth and nose sewn shut with a golden thread in a beautiful pattern. The horror on the humans’ faces when they set their eyes upon her was enough to please whatever was left of the Demon’s black, shriveled soul for a while. But the taste of their fear only made him hungry for more. He travelled the world, uninhibited by the laws of nature as we know them, scattering his work whenever inspiration stuck him. To this day, he still haunts the land, scheming and waiting for the opportunity to create his true masterpiece.”_

The song ended, and along with it the old man’s tale. The night had gotten dark and a fog had risen from the river and swept through the town. The beautiful werelights and the spirit blossoms now looked eerie. The people begun to leave for their homes, huddled together for warmth and out of fear. Usan turned to Shen, who was still staring at the stage with a weird expression on his face.

“How much of it do you think is real?” he whispered, shivering.

“Not all of it, but enough.” Usan sighed. “Come on, let’s get back to the inn. We need to rest.”

Shen followed him without speaking.

* * *

Guiying had trouble sleeping that night. He kept tossing and turning, thoughts running in all directions, not letting him rest. He tried to focus on this evening’s events. They had given a good performance that night and they had made a considerable amount of money. The group was so happy, they had wanted to celebrate it. All of their travelling cars, except for Guiying’s which was the biggest and doubled as a prop storage, were outside the town since the townspeople, kind as they were, were scared of thieves and wanted them out of the town at night. So, they gathered all their props and their clothes as quickly as they could and headed for the town’s outskirts, laughing and singing on the way. Even Shujia had taken part in their merrymaking, to everyone’s surprise, bringing out a bottle of some expensive wine he managed to gamble out of some poor man’s hands. Guiying had declined the glass he offered him, claiming that his age was meant for only simple, clear water.

He was regretting that decision now. Perhaps if he had drunk just a little, it would have been easier for him to fall asleep. Deciding he had enough of this, he threw his blankets of him and shifted to place his aching feet on the ground. He turned his eyes to the small window of the travelling car he shared with Lin for the night. The night was at it’s darkest and dawn wouldn’t be coming any time soon. He sighed and decided to take a walk. Maybe that would help clear his mind a little, or at the very least tire him enough to sleep. Taking his cane, he put his robe on and then stepped outside, being careful to not wake his granddaughter, who was fast asleep.

Everything was silent outside. Nothing moved and there was not even a wisp of wind. The sky was clear and the moon shone beautiful overhead. He started walking slowly towards the stream that ran nearby. Then, all of the sudden he realized he couldn’t move. He looked down at his feet and saw that he had stepped on a lotus flower, when he could swear there was nothing there before. It had trapped his leg and no matter how hard he tried, it wouldn’t budge. It was then that he noticed a figure moving towards him.

“Come give a hand to an old man, I seem to be stuck,” he said, before realizing who it was that approached him. Terror gripped his heart at the man’s expression and he started to shout, cane falling from his hand, when Shujia, moving unnaturally fast, covered his mouth with his hand.

“Hush now, sweet old man. I would prefer it if we weren’t interrupted. Your companions may be sleeping deeply, but I couldn’t very well drug every merchant that camped around us.”

The wine! So that’s why he had finally decided to open up to the rest of their group. It was all planned! He started to struggle, trying to get away from the man, just enough to scream, to alert anyone who might be near, but Shujia was a lot stronger.

“I must say, I thoroughly enjoyed your story tonight. With just the right amount of flair and a pinch of shock, it was very well done,” he wispered in his deep voice. “Though not entirely correct, I’m afraid, I must congratulate you for presenting me as an artist. Most seem to forget my true occupation, too caught in the whole “murderer” thing.”

Panic had filled Guiying and he resumed his struggles against his captor. He was right! They should have never left that man get anywhere near them, he was dangerous and insane.

“I had hoped that it would have been your lovely granddaughter stepping on those traps tonight. She turned down my offered glass as well, you know. You taught her well.” He chuckled. “But I’m not too disappointed, I’ll get to her later. I am a very patient man.”

Guiying’s eyes bulged at the mention of Lin. He realized that he was about to die, that he wouldn’t be able to protect her and resumed his struggling, harder than ever. But the Golden Demon’s grip wouldn’t budge.

“Yes, yes, you will both die,” Shujia huffed, sounding rather bored. “Consider it a gift from me to you, one artist to another, for your excellent show. Though…” he paused, as if lost in thought. “I suppose this is not really for you. You are my message.” The demon snorted, sounding amused. “But, after all, art is never for the artist. You of all people must know that. Oh, you and your granddaughter will make a splendid piece. I will make you beautiful!”

No matter how much Guiying tried, he knew he couldn’t do anything anymore. He was at the hands of the Demon.

* * *

Screams woke up the two young men the next day. They looked at each other, confused, then scrumbled to get dressed. They rushed to the direction of the commotion, daggers in hands. While they were running, sirens were going on in Usan’s head.

_I knew something would go wrong, I just knew it!_

They pushed through the crowd and managed to get to the very front. The sight that greeted them was one that neither of them would ever forget.

From the highest branch of the plane tree was hanging the old storyteller. He appeared to be smiling and his hand were open, as if he was performing for his audience. Right beneath his feet lay the singing girl, flowers sprouting from everywhere on her body.

The two young men came closer, and Usan kneeled down, touching the girl’s arm. Suddenly, the illusion shattered, and they were left looking at a mangled corpse, with holes everywhere on its body and dead flowers dripping with blood.

Shen stumbled, fell on his knees and emptied the contents of his stomach on the side. Usan, his face like stone, looked up. A plate was hanging from the old man’s feet. It read:

_My dear hunters, welcome to my show!_

_What is art? It is blood, it is death, it is fear, it is darkness and all the beauty that exists in it. Because beauty truly is in the eyes of the beholder. But sometimes, you must gouge the beholder’s eyes out._

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed it! Drop a comment to let me know if you liked it. Thank you for reading <3


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